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Sword of the Hunter Ch2 Writeup
Sword of the Hunter Write Up - Ch2 Marco polishes his nose. Any normal person would have had his nose flattened slightly by now given how often he received these, but Marco wasn’t a normal person. At least I would believe he wasn’t. In any case the third degree burns suffered onto his chest diverted most of the pain from his nose. He took this time now to do a bit of basic first-aid onto it via magicThe good hunter always knows a good healing spell or two. Along with a disinfection spell. What a smart hunter also knows is that these healing spells are hardly anything more than first aid. A quick painkiller here, and a disinfectent there. Marco, unfortunately was not a smart hunter. His body, for the few times he ends up without a shirt is covered in more scars and scorches than you could possibly count. I'm told Abby likes this look. These are his words not mine.. Abby, meanwhile, was busy pulling the hem of her skirt lower; almost to the point of pulling it right off. She continued to stammer and sputter at Marco in a sort of angry half-formed words and grunts sort of way. Eventually she managed to form a coherent sentence. “S-stop doing that!” Her face was still beet red as she sputters that line out, and in earnest almost thought about seriously considering her choice of colors. This thought left her mind quickly, though. Spinning around to the practically un-phased Marc, she points a finger at him. “A-and anyway! Your incompetence cost us payment! Again!” she exclaimed, trying to change the subject. Marc simply shrugs and places his hands behind his head. “Not like it's anything new.” Abby almost forgetting the incident moments earlier, or channeling her embarrassment and rage from it, charges up to Marco. Giving him the hardest death glare a twelve-year old looking girl could muster, she yells, “Why’d you have to break every window in the entire cathedral?!” “What, you’re not supposed to break the windows entering into a church fightTo tell you the truth, this is actually the recommended method of entry for hunters. Cliche, but hey what isn't? Of course we usually go by the mantra of breaking ''one'' window.?” Marc replies rather matter-of-factly. Abby’s anger was tangible at this point, the pressure gauge deep-sixed, blown already. She raises her fist for a punch to the gut but holds herself back. With a definite “HMPH”, she turns on her toes and begins to storm out the door. “You’re cute when you’re angryShe is..” Abby spins her head around to stare at a smirking Marc. Her face still red, either from embarrassment or anger or both, she stammers for the second time now and finally bursts after a moment, “W-why you! Just…just get in the car and drive!” Practically ripping the hinge off the door, she climbs into the passenger seat of a beat up red pickup. Its model and brand were lost to the recklessness of its owner, and the countless amount of times it had been used as a piece of impromptu cover. In actuality, I’m a bit rather surprised it still runs. Marc climbed into the other side, casually as always. The ride is silent for the first ten minutes or so. Abby’s eyes were glued firmly to the passing scenery just outside the window. Marc tacking at the dashboard, trying to get some sort of readout from his speedometer, not that it mattered much how fast he was going anyway. “…Hey, think we have enough for gas?” he finally says, looking at the half functional readout. “Barely,” she replies sighing, “We could avoid all this if you just stop inflicting property damage!” “Ain't my fault all the demons go for expensive areas.” “Hmph.” With that remainder of the trip was silent. The drive led through the countryside of Bumfuck Nowhere, USAIf I remember correctly, it was actually some place in Wisconsin. Of course the area was still formally Bumfuck Nowhere. Several places are, actually.. Rows upon rows of mismanaged crops and failed farmer’s land passed by, the town they had come from not looking much better itself. The road eventually leads to a small forested area, the trees taking up much of the scenery there. The car pulls up to a small shack, its appearance barely fitting for human occupation. Sitting in front of the shack is a garbed man. Wrapped in robes, and enigma, he is the informant for these two hunters. As per usual, he leans forward from the rickety lawn-chair and greets them pointing at the job board next to him. “Welcome back. Your payment, minus collateral of course, and new jobs,” he says holding up a small thin envelope. Marc snatches this parcel quickly from his hands and gives the board a quick glance over, “ArchdemonI should take some time to explain the power levels of demons. We have lesser demons, demons, high demons, and finally archdemons. The heirarchy is rather straightforward but the difference in power level isn't. Lesser demons can be best described as nothing more useful than messangers. A stiff wind would kill them. Demons and high demons were like soldiers and their sargeant respectively. The power is all over the board from fairly weak to hellishly powerful. Archdemons? Well, lets say a prerequisite was that they could kill a regular human with a simple look. And I mean this seriously. They were powerful. Scarily powerful. But rare, thankfully.? Hell, I haven’t had a challenge for a while.” “Archdemon-''ess''. Just like little miss fallen angel over there,” he points to the angel still in the car, “Except this one is a vampire. And in Europe. A place I can send you. For a price.” He rights himself with a smile. “Do I even have a choice? This other job is in Europe anyway,” Marc says with some disdain. “Glad to see you’re still sharp. Price is simple. Your car, about a quarter of your magical reserves, and you do both jobs in Europe,” he says, “New start in Europe, free of that collateral damage reputation. How about it?” “Can we do without the magical reserves?” “Unfortunately, its how I get you there Mr. Hunter. Conventional travel is too slow as well.” He leans back with a shrug. “Hers or yours.” “Tch, just take mine.” Marco says looking back. “Always the gentleman.” The informant deftly punches Marc in the gut, knocking him out almost instantly. But before the body could even hit the ground, however, he found a scythe head’s blade quickly under his chin. Abby was scarily quickThat specific pose, the blade underneath your chin, was something of a trademark. I imagine she got a lot of practice with Marco. And I do mean a lot., “What. Are. You. Doing?” “Just stealing about a quarter of his magical reserves to send you two to Europe, miss,” he slowly pushes down the blade with his fingers, “He volunteered.” “Wait, what? Couldn’t you use your own reserves? You never move anyway.” “You’d be surprised miss. Now if you could?” He points to the scythe head very much still brandished. She eases the grip, but keeps it out as she reads the two jobs outlined onto the board, “Europe, huh? Why do I get the feeling you’re withholding easier manageable jobs in the local area?” “Because I am, missy,” he says already mid-spell, “Consider it a gift.” Before Abby has a chance to reply or protest, what could be described best as a rip in space and time forms right above Marco. A rip, which sucks in Marco himself almost immediately. Realizing any negotiations are null and void by this point, Abby leaps in after him glaring at the informant. He simply sits back down as the rift closes, a smile on his face. The truth of the matter is those rifts never work instantaneously. They were a hell of a lot faster than using a plane, but still not instant. The entire trip would take about an hour, with the two of them suspended in complete darkness. To Abby this would immensely boring, if not for the mutterings she could hear from Marco every now and then. “…Abby’s room…?” “…cute…when you…scream…” “…soft…” Yeah, it doesn’t take a genius to fathom just what he was hallucinating about. This continued on for the entire hour. An hour spent, which I could only imagine, with Abby’s cheeks slowly illuminating the darkness with how luminescent her blush was slowly getting. By the time the portal opened again and dumped them onto soft grass, she had built up equal parts anger and embarrassment. Again. “…putting it i-“ He never finished that sentence. With a swift kick to the head from Abby, he stirs to consciousness again, albeit with a slight headache. As he regains his vision he squints at the figure standing above him. “Huh? …Why are you wearing clothes?” He receives a very swift kick to the ‘nadsI'm noticing a trend.. Footnotes=